


the weight of your ribs, between my hips

by katyfaise



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyfaise/pseuds/katyfaise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s rare they receive breaks in their missions, even rarer that they’re completely without ties and the three of them are free to do as they please - he had imagined a day of rest, perhaps dinner with his team and a good book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the weight of your ribs, between my hips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neckwear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neckwear/gifts).



> title from halsey. of course. i'm so predictable.

It’s rare they receive breaks in their missions, even rarer that they’re completely without ties and the three of them are free to do as they please - he had imagined a day of rest, perhaps dinner with his team and a good book.

Not this.

_This_ being his current position, tense against the couch in his shared hotel suite with Gaby as he listens to her behind the closed bedroom door getting ready to meet Solo.

At the beach.

Just the thought of the impending outing annoys Illya - he doesn’t do _the beach_. There’s sand that gets everywhere, sticks to everything and follows one for a week. Seagulls are troublesome and there’s always the chance of a sunburn that leaves him sore for far too long. It’s the sort of place that people like Solo adore, where he can get attention in many ways and revel in it.

Given that Illya hates attention, it makes him hate the beach even more. But Gaby had been excited about the opportunity to enjoy the beaches in Spain. Their contact in Ibiza would not arrive for another day, and the moment Napoleon mentioned sunbathing next to the crystal clear water, Gaby’s eyes had lit up. How was he supposed to deny her of something so simple, that seemed so extravagant to her? It wasn’t as if she was able to enjoy this sort of beach behind the iron curtain.

He groans and picks at the edge of his swimming shorts, a pair that Solo had so _lovingly_ picked out and sent up to their room when he’d mentioned he was unprepared for the beach. Illya should have known that there was no escaping when those two set their mind to things.

“I’m nearly ready!” he hears from the other side of the closed door, and Illya leans his head against his fist. She’s been in there for what feels like hours, and Illya can’t figure out how it takes so long to put on a bathing suit.

“We are late,” Illya points out, aware his voice is strained.

“Napoleon will survive, I’m sure,” Gaby says, opening the door finally and stepping out into the lounge. Illya looks up at her, jaw slack from the image that stands in front of him. He’s seen Gaby in much less, it does happen to be one of the perks of sleeping with her, but he thinks of how the sun will touch the skin so normally hidden beneath her dresses and his skin grows warmer. “What do you think? Do you like it?” she asks. He swallows the lump in his throat and nods tightly. The bikini is red and white and polka dotted, and the little top has no straps - it’s secured in the back with a simple knot.

Illya has never felt more weak in his life.

He stands and takes a tentative step toward her, hands tempted to reach out and touch her hips. Gaby doesn’t seem to notice because she’s carefully unwrapping a sarong and looping it around her neck, poised to wear it as a dress before they reach their destination.

“Stop,” he instructs, and Gaby looks up as she does so.

“Hmm?” she hums, pausing her actions. When Illya leans down slowly, she looks up with wide eyes, completely surprised by his sudden change in attitude. But his lips meet hers in a soft kiss and she smiles, arms instinctively stretching to wrap around his broad shoulders. Illya’s lips drift from hers to her neck, touching the skin that smells of coconut tanning oil and envelops his whole being. Gaby’s laugh is breathless, but it’s cut short when his hand grasps her ass and pulls her close to him. She can feel the beginnings of an erection through the material of his swimming shorts, and the thought that she’s affected him in such a way sends a chill right through her. Her fingers dig roughly into his shoulders, in no mood to turn his affections away.

He pushes her back then and Gaby falls into step, walking backwards into the bedroom as she clings to him. Illya’s lips have trailed down to the bit of cleavage revealed from her bikini top and when the back of her legs hit the bed, he carefully picks her up and sits her on top of the crisp comforter. She leans back and Illya continues his trek down her body, lips running down her belly and to the edge of the tiny bottoms. When she reaches behind, seemingly to untie the top she wears, Illya pauses and reaches out to stop her.

“Leave it,” he says simply, and Gaby raises an eyebrow but complies.

Illya kisses the inside of her thigh, his lips brushing over the soft skin again and again before he nips his teeth there, bringing a happy sigh from her lips.

“Illya, we’re late,” she breathes out, falling flat against the bed.

He laughs, the sound a quiet rumble from his chest, and peels the tiny bikini bottoms away from her skin.

“Solo will survive,” he says, repeating her words from before. Gaby catches this and looks down at him, eyebrow raised and only met with a smirk from Illya. He kisses his way back up her body and hovers over her, gently brushing hair from her eyes. Illya caresses her cheek and pulls her lips to meet his, and it’s Gaby that deepens the kiss they share. She stops the kiss to gasp, distracted by the fingers he’s pressed inside of her to test the waters.

He closes his eyes and hides his face in the crook of her neck, reveling in the way she feels at his fingertips. Illya touches her again and her body curves up against his, the moans that leave her lips sound nearly like a whisper.

It’s Gaby that takes the initiative to pull his white shirt over his head and push his shorts off, only to grab his hips next and pull him close. She lets her legs fall apart and he settles between them. Illya guides himself into her, slowly at first, gauging the way her body reacts to him. When she digs her fingers into the skin of his back, Illya grips her hips and rolls their bodies so she is straddling him. Gaby takes the reins then and there’s a lack of control on his part that Illya has learned to love. He watches with wide eyes as she loses her composure, head thrown back in abandon and hair sticking to her forehead as she exerts herself, rolling her hips roughly. He reaches up to press his thumb against her clit, rubbing the sensitive spot in time with each thrust he makes.

Gaby leans over slightly, bracing her hands flat against his chest as she comes, the noise that leaves her mouth loud enough that Illya worries if the neighbors hear. She relaxes against him, body shaking still as he continues to fuck her. Only moments later, he easily lifts her off of his body and comes into his own fist, spilling himself in a sticky burst that he wipes against the sheets. He looks back to Gaby, her eyes half lidded and her body coated with sweat that makes the room smell like a mixture of her coconut tanning oil and sex.

It’s intoxicating and Illya feels positively drunk.

He leans back against the pillows and Gaby fits herself underneath his arm, stretching out against him, and he holds her tightly.

When the time comes to explain why they never showed up at the beach, Illya is sure Solo will understand whatever excuse they come up with.

 


End file.
